"Baron," I breathed, my hands fumbling over the flat top of the station, wanting to climb over the damn thing. He pinned me with his gaze alone, his lips spread wide to reveal his white fangs, the tips digging into his flesh. "I—." 

He struck the wall, his fist passing through mortar and brick into the earth beyond. Small bits of rock rained over us as the entire basement trembled. 

It seemed furious was an understatement.

The Baron was not alone. Another man stood several paces behind him, his face familiar—though I'd never met him before. I stole several glances at the hulking vampire in Ishcer's shadow, scouring my brain for any recollection of his gaunt, bearded face—then I remembered. He was Lorro Di Stefano, the Baron of Ferryton. 

He was the leech Kyle had accused of becoming a revenant.

Di Stefano was definitely showing signs of his...condition. His eyes were milky, his skin unnaturally pallid—almost gray, with his temples marbled by purple veins. Even while he appeared to have all the symptoms of Jure syndrome, I knew he couldn't as the man was too composed, too...sane, and it took thirty years for Jure to incubate. He couldn't possibly be a revenant.

I reached for him with my skill, pushing through Ishcer who stood like an empty pillar before me with his magic withdrawn in preparation to strike. For a moment, I thought the sneering vampire in the background was the same as Ishcer—that he had his energy contained within himself, hidden from my sight, but I could recognize the unseemly void magic clinging to his person more swiftly than I had before.

He was like Dominick, but not as crazed. What I mistook at first for perfect control was the exact opposite, an utter lack thereof, hidden under that deceptive curtain of tangible nothingness.

Ishcer's fingers formed a tight vice upon my chin and jerked my face toward his, tearing my eyes from the other Baron waiting for a command. "Don't look at him," he snapped, nails cutting into my skin. "I'm a far bigger threat to you."

I didn't know what to do. There was no one to call out to—no one who could hear me over the fighting or music, no one who would care even if they could. There wasn't anything for me to act against, no magic emanating from either Baron that I could manipulate to force them away. Did I dare scream out the name of the demon? Was he capable of hearing me? Would he come?

I suddenly felt much smaller and very, very vulnerable.

"I—!" My hands scrambled over the woodcarving station again, wincing when something sharp stabbed my palm. I lifted the hand to glance at the injury, and Ishcer followed the motion, his bruised eyes widening a fraction when he glimpsed the blood spoiling my skin. Quicker than I could react his grip was on my wrist, almost crushing the bones, and his mouth was on my wound, his tongue rasping over the ripped skin like sandpaper.

"Get off!" I yelled as I struggled to free myself, noting how high and wild my voice had become. My heart was racing like a runaway train in my chest. Lorro was watching what was happening with unbearable scrutiny, his bloodshot eyes filled with hunger and no small amount of lust.

My fist connected with Emial's jaw, but nothing happened. I was too weak, my blow as ineffectual as a child's against the umpir who'd been alive for over a thousand years. His teeth grazed my skin as his gaze met mine, his swarthy looks twisted with feral hunger. 

"You're not...human," he murmured as his red teeth shone dully in the harsh light. "What secrets are you keeping, Havik's pet?"

A sudden burst of static energy hit the Baron in the side and flung him into the already ruined wall, his skull striking the concrete with a satisfying crack! My knees were so weak I almost crumpled, but I managed to dart away from the vampires as I cradled my hand against my chest and frantically rubbed it on my turtleneck's hem, not caring what stains I left on the cloth. 

Xerex Darhan was at the foot of the stairs, slumped over the metal newel post with his long arms hanging loose next to the railing. He wasn't exactly the picture of a heroic savior—but I'd take his half-hearted intervention and be grateful for it. 

"Hey, professor," the Fae greeted with a short, lazy wave before turning his attention to the vampires again. "Hey, Baron."

Ishcer rose from the rubble with perfect aplomb and used one hand to push his head upright, his broken neck healing with a series of grueling crunches. I cringed in spite of myself, though Di Stefano never moved. There was something wrong with him, something not natural.

Well, it'd be more apt to say there was nothing natural about that creature at all.

"Mr. Darhan," Emial returned, cleaning his teeth with a practiced sweep of his tongue. "May I ask what brings you to my modest club this evening? You've interrupted my dinner."

His modest club? Does...does the Baron own this place?!

Xerex sighed through his nose, ignoring me—though I was hiding behind him and had my uninjured hand fisted in the back of his sports coat, ready to use the Darkling as a shield if Ishcer advanced. "Can't have you eating my debtors, man. Bad for business."

A disgusted sound rose from Emial as his expression changed from one of polite interest to pure loathing. "Keep your fucking toys out of my business, then. What was she doing down here? What was she looking for?"

I heard the unasked question in his tone: What did she find?

I didn't know what I'd found, but I knew one thing: Havik's suspicions had been right. Emial was involved, and though I didn't understand his motives or what he'd done with Theda, he had something to hide. I would have to find where that tunnel led.

"B-bathroom," I stammered, trying to steel my resolve. "I was looking for the bathroom." 

All three men regarded me as if I was a moron. 

"The bathroom?" Emial intoned, flicking bits of dirt and stone from his velvet cape and silk shoulders. "Am I supposed to believe that, Ms. Winters? Was the sign not enough to deter you?"

Xerex laughed, playing with the lone piercing remaining in his bottom lip. "You're so dull, Baron." His magic was lowering, tightening its revolutions as its storm built in silent fervor. I'd thought his emotions would be angry or annoyed—but Xerex's mood was a steady white cloud, the color of serenity, with a thread pink worked into the mix. The more complex the emotion, the more difficult it was to decipher its color, but I recognized this light, reddish-pink because it was boredom, and boredom was common.

The Fae was one of the oddest people I knew. 

"If your brother wasn't the king of the Unseelie, I'd mount your head in my office with the others."

The others.

I let go of Xerex, already several steps up the stairs and wanting to run.

Xerex smiled. "Bless the Dark for Borneas, then."

The Baron went to slick back his hair and noticed a spot of my blood on his fingertips. Distracted, he commanded us to "Get out," before sticking the finger into his mouth.

I didn't wait for Xerex. I bolted, taking the stairs two at a time, and sprinted through the closed door at the top. Though the fighting continued in the pit, I ran without giving it a thought, pushing aside those who got in my way, refusing to apologize to anyone I shoved or hit. Their irked protests trailed me as I dashed from the lounge.

Being out under the ugly haze of Roccia Nera's magical fugue had never been so relieving before. I ran until the blood pit and its confused guard were out of sight—and then I stopped, bent over with my hands on my knees, fighting my gag reflex as I swallowed breath after breath of filthy city air.

Havik had been right. I shouldn't have gone in there alone. It'd been a mistake. 

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" 

Xerex caught up after a moment, pausing at my side as he slid the sunglasses from his face. His question was placid, uninterested. There was no empathy to be found in him—no emotion at all, really, aside from his contentment and a growing orange band of greed. His lack of reaction on a personal level was so strange, so alien. What kind of man strolls through a blood pit and saves a woman's life without any feeling of happiness, fear, or anger?

I froze and stood straight as a chilling sensation washed through me. Oh God, I owe him my life!

"I...didn't ask for you to do that," I said, gulping. "You shouldn't have helped."

"But I did help, yeah?" He brushed dirt from my shoulder, his lingering touch somewhat possessive. His green eyes blazing with self-centered amusement. I think everything was a game to Xerex Darhan, life and death just two different outcomes with two different play routes for him to enjoy on a whim. "That's called a debt of honor, professor. It's a big thing in the Court."

"This is why you agreed to come." It had to be. His easy acceptance of my request had been suspicious, but I hadn't expected this kind of deeper planning. Had he followed me the entire time? Just waiting for the right opportunity? "You knew something like this would happen."

"Something like this was bound to happen. You put two elements together that don't belong, like a straight-laced priss and a fight club, and one of them's going to be rejected." The Fae slid his phone from his pocket again and began to tap the screen. "For what it's worth, didn't think you'd clash with the Baron. That was pretty cool."

I squeezed my wounded hand, mad at him—and mad at myself for being so naïve. I'd found information and a new lead to follow, but at what cost? I'd pissed off Ishcer, potentially alerting him to my continued hunt for Theda, and I'd thrown myself headfirst into a trench of debt with a weird brother of the Unseelie King.

I felt like a kid on a merry-go-round, but the damn thing wasn't stopping, only speeding up, and I had to decide whether or not I was going to jump off and break both my legs or hang on for dear life, praying this horrid ride would finally halt.

A black town car pulled up to the curb by Xerex and me. The back door of the vehicle popped open and a Dark Fae dressed like a valet jumped out—except this valet had talons and a mask to hide whatever nightmarish visage lay beneath. He held the door and bowed to Xerex.

The Darkling sniffed, sliding his phone into his pocket once more. "See you later, professor."

"Wh—? Wait!"

Xerex paused, craning his head to give me an ambivalent look.

"I owe you a debt—." 

"Yeah, yeah." Again he responded with his passive hand wave, already getting into his beckoned car. "You'll receive a call."

"I'll receive a...call?"

"Mhm." Xerex sprawled in the backseat, crossing one leg over the other as he bared sharp teeth in a knowing smile. "Look forward to it, professor."

The Unseelie valet joined the prince in the car and the door was shut. In an instant, the tires shifted, the engine revved, and the Dark Fae were whisked from sight, which left me alone on the side of a desolate east bank street with a bloody hand and a sick stomach.

Xerex was too clever for me. This was not going to end well.